Pretty Bruises
by Novoux
Summary: There is no rage like a monster's, of blind, furious enmity that Izaya fancies himself as the one who gets to witness it in all its terrifying glory. Izuo & Shizaya; sequel to Rage.


"Shizu-chan?"

Collapsing on the sidewalk is the questionable beast, wild eyes and covered in tattered clothes and blood staining the ground red in a fast-spreading puddle. Izaya quirks an eyebrow at the unexpected sight, bending at the knees a fair distance away from what is undeniably Shizuo Heiwajima next to drowning in his own blood and the scent of fear drenches him.

Which is strange, because Shizu-chan isn't afraid of anything but himself. Nor does he bleed so easily and—does and tries to—come willingly toward Izaya. If he looks behind from the direction where Shizuo came, he can see a blood trail glistening in the last lights of the setting sun. Streetlights flicker on and off in the shadow of a shady neighborhood—tsk tsk, Shizu-chan. Disappointing for a monster to dwell in the habitat of lecherous humans when he'll never fit in no matter where he haunts.

"Shizu-chan, what are you doing?" Izaya steps closer, walking to Shizuo's side and nudging him with a shoe. The body moves with the push, Shizuo's eyes are closed which explains why he isn't attempting to kill Izaya. It doesn't matter even if he wasn't covered in blood and reeking of a strange scent like gunpowder and the sweeter scent of make-believe and illicit drugs mixed in coppery blood. After all, it could also be the perfume prostitutes wear around these parts, having a strip club only a couple streets away and filled with the nightlife of sold sex and drugs.

Now, for what reason would Shizuo be there? Surely he hasn't realized how much of a monster he is so quickly—save for the recent trials of attempting to behave whenever his hand slips into Izaya's and they're not fighting all the time—no, not that.

Maybe there's this breath paused in his throat like he's waiting for something and maybe it's the tremble of his fingers writhing against his palms. Or that Shizu-chan's memory lingers on his skin from the first time he remembers touch without pain.

And if he _did_ have anything to do with this surprise of the night, Izaya narrows his eyes and bends to the ground on his heels, he would _know_ about it.

Wounds decorate Shizuo's skin in varying depths and a spread of bruising colors from what he can see. A stir of anger rises in him, pitiable for the ones responsible since he doesn't feel like letting someone else claim the prize of killing the beast of Ikebukuro. Not to mention with the job so sloppily done as well, leaving him alive to give questionable doubt—they must have not cared whether or not Shizuo died from whatever they did to him. Of course, because Shizu-chan isn't worth the mess and wasted time. Though in this occasion Izaya doubts that Shizu-chan is actually meant to be dead when it's much more entertaining to have a monster alive than bleeding on the ground—his mind argues that he's a liar. It doesn't take much, thinking he's covered the saliva that sticks in his throat and tastes too much like copper.

(He _almost_ has to convince himself he's not the one on the ground.)

"You're not fun if you're dead, Shizu-chan." Considering calling Shinra—no, that's not worth it. Not worth the look on Shizuo's face if he wakes and Izaya knows that having pride broken like this (knowing intimately, going by the blood pooling from Shizuo's legs) that perhaps it isn't the best idea. Even if Shizuo isn't completely broken, in a cornered, rabid state, any monster can become dangerous. One that he wants to observe, capture the essence of a struggling, snarling beast.

Which means that Shizuo is _his_ to break if he ever has the idea to and only will he have that right. Not whoever has done this.

Kneeling, Izaya avoids the spreading pile of blood stretching and reaching, almost helplessly, to his shoe. "Well, I can't have that if you're going to waste your life." Arms move to slip underneath heavy shoulders and with a heave of surprising strength Izaya pulls Shizuo to a wall, flicking out his phone and calling in a favor he thinks is long overdue.

Looking distastefully at the blood on the ground and back to the collapsed beast, he'll need quite a bit of a favor.

In return, he wants plenty of answers.

If it's worth the fuss then maybe it's possible there's a reason Izaya went looking for Shizuo in the first place. Any mention at all of Shizuo and he distinctly remembers the blood that keeps coming in heavy streams from injuries all over, drenching his clothes a solid red that will rack up a six figure price tag. Though the bill at the dry cleaner's will have to wait until as soon as he can trust himself to leave the monster alone in his apartment. The bathroom is hard enough to clean and it's harder to breathe, even after the chemicals wipe away traces of pink bathwater. Save for the fact every injury keeps bleeding and tainting the water a solid red before it drains away.

Bleach stains in the tub and all over the floor, leaving the bathroom door cracked to vent the smell. It's nearly intoxicating, his senses ache of a pounding throb between his temples. It doesn't fade for the longest time.

As night climbs into morning he finds himself dozing off while he stitches and bandages, interesting finds all marked in every groove of his brain. Then he keeps finding the uneven marks on every inch of skin that's supposed to be his—and they all make him angry—some more than others. By the way they refuse to stop bleeding, they mark his Shizu-chan like an open invitation to anyone else who could have found him.

No—the thought isn't something to keep his mood all that contented. Not especially when he grits his teeth, counts under his breath to stop _thinking_ too much. Which has never been a problem up until finding Shizu-chan bleeding to death. The foul smell of animals drenches him in every single mark.

He never would have thought Shizu-chan could succumb to such things. Things like the bruises of fingers and hands all over his body, the marks that rest on him, carvings that are delicate and clearly intentional. Izaya traces them with a ginger sort of reaction as his brain rewires itself.

Shizu-chan's skin is much colder than he can remember. It's not a hobby of his to take detailed accounts of a protozoan's body temperature, just a simple observation. He's always known the beast as running higher than normal (this makes it feel too real, too much like it's not what it is) and lately he's had problems with differentiating between fantasy and reality. So there's no point in trying to find reasoning for why he stays up into early morning watching Shizuo sleep on his bed.

(In a way, Izaya supposes that's a privilege earned from nights of sleeping next to him, one heavy arm draped around him and smelling of cigarettes—)

It's three in the morning before Izaya fingers the cut on his forehead. The motion rouses the stinging and his senses slowly start returning after a numb past couple of hours. From robotic motions to breathing in and exhaling sighs he's not thinking. Of course he's not thinking when he stares at Shizu-chan. That _this_ is the same monster who just went out with him (on a _date_ ) a week ago. He disappeared afterward then, somehow still the same beast that looks too disgusting when he sleeps curled up in Izaya's sheets and Izaya isn't there next to him. Watching creates a similar effect when it starts to seep into his thoughts. Feelings of warmth and being held are something he won't admit to liking, not with how long they've been not killing each other. And it could be longer—there's a part of his brain that keeps echoing the notion in mocking repetition.

The room spins when Izaya's eyes close—body held up in a chair and he's already starting to slump over. Exhaustion kicks in, more than three nights without sleep and searching looking thinking that his computer should have the answers with security tapes. He doesn't find it—only grim reminders of red bathwater that keep him awake.

Deciding it worthless to keep trying to fall asleep, he watches instead, interested in how a monster can stay asleep after a trauma. Much more like the one cleaned out from _between_ his legs. Izaya knows of this like he knows of every single mark and where it is on Shizuo's body where his brain sing-songs the other things that he's too tired to over-analyze.

Thinking is hard. Going through the trouble of processing every single moment of the night before (since it's tomorrow at this time) is just not worth the sigh and the finger that unconsciously swipes away blood from his forehead. He's been too absorbed by watching the rise and fall, the same shake and shudder with Shizuo's breaths rattling in his chest. They're imprisoned and held in every other choked noise that comes from him as he coughs and twitches in his sleep. Sometimes Izaya traces the electric spark of a shudder from a sudden movement beneath the sheets, contorting Shizu-chan's face into one of a twisted snarl. That, or a frown that pulls his knees barely to his chest with as far as they go, burrowing himself under the blankets.

Izaya blinks slowly, knees pulling up to his chest and he hasn't realized he's dozing off in the same room as a monster. Which isn't surprising—no, not when they've been together for long enough to share the same bed even if Shizu-chan hogs all of it, keeps Izaya pinned like a chew toy. Which he highly objects to but not all in the same fashion. Nothing quite like watching Shizuo jerk and struggle, restricted movements enforced by the wounds stitched and bandaged back together with the shame covered up for now—do monsters feel shame?

He knows there are bits of it that stick in gluey swallows near the back of his throat with a dry tongue when it comes to asking Shizuo for something. Be it staying the night, kiss—he doesn't _ask—_ it just happens and that's what he's going to keep saying to himself until it makes sense.

And now the game is changed, it's never going to be the same and he's doubtful to think it could be the same—the thoughts that keeping running on in his head aren't making it any better. But as he lifts a hand and stretches his fingers apart there may or may not be a phantom of pain and warmth, tracing the curl of thicker fingers in his. What it feels like to sleep next to a monster and pretend it's okay to want it. If he keeps the thought in his head, feeling Shizu-chan's arms around him and the extra warmth that isn't there, it's easier to fall asleep even if he doesn't mean to.

Answering his own questions along with Shizuo's will be much harder, he realizes, because there are some things he doesn't know.

* * *

 _I started this back in March, and now it's finally being started, thank you for your patience._

 _Thank you for reading._


End file.
